


Sleeping Forest

by G123u



Series: A Fairy Tale for Two [2]
Category: Elsword (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 12:44:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15364983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/G123u/pseuds/G123u
Summary: He would slave for a thousand years if it meant seeing Valak again.





	Sleeping Forest

**Author's Note:**

> Requested by: Infinity and Zero (FF.net)  
> It's not exactly fluff, sorry (laughs).

"Urgh... Ha.. Hack!" Ahh... He could feel it again. The intense lust. Blood. He craved it. Blood. He yearned for it. Blood. He needed it. Blood. Needed it as if it were oxygen. Needed it as if it were a glass of water in a dry desert. Needed it as if it were a knife that could cut the rope tightening around his neck. Needed it as if it were blood blood blood blood _blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood--_

Stab. A phoru. It was his policy to only hunt demons. But he’d have to break it this one time. It was an emergency. Yes. An emergency.

He watched as his blade soaked up the blood, becoming more and more vibrantly red with each passing second. Ahh. Much better. He flicked the dried corpse away, watching with unfazed eyes as it landed on the earthy ground with a soft thump. It was an emergency. Yes. He couldn’t control himself. But now he was all right. He could last another day or two before it came again. Ahh, it was tiring. All this blood gathered and not a single drop could be his.

“Valak…” His voice was deep and quiet. Hoarse, even. Tired. Weary. But he couldn’t stop here. Not now. He had to keep searching. He had to find him. “Valak,” he repeated. “Valak… Valak…”

He sheathed his blade. He should return now. He knew his destination but… Which way? Was he lost? Or simply just tired, perhaps?

“...This way…?” He wasn’t certain, but it felt like that was the right direction. Intuition? Of course not, it couldn’t be. But that was fine. As long as he arrived in one piece…

Trees, trees, trees, more trees… It felt like he had been walking for hours. The sun had set long ago, and all the plants appeared the same to him. Vines that coiled and strangled the trees like a jealous lover and wildflowers that twisted and reached like mangled, disjointed limbs. The forests at night were truly a terrifying scene. He wondered how - and why? - a church could be built in the gloomy region of Feita. It wasn’t a surprise that the church was often empty - no one would dare come to such a dark and dangerous place, not even if it were a sanctuary built in the honor of the first Lady of El. But that was fine, more than fine, really. An abandoned building no one visits was the best place to hide secrets. A holy church though, of all things. It was ironic - two men who betrayed the gods turn to their place of worship as sanctum. They were abandoned. But they would live. Edan was determined to save him.

His pace slowed as the chapel came into view. It was beautiful. No matter how decayed, or wilted, or littered, or damaged, or worn it was, Edan could not help but appreciate its beauty - the tall, symmetrical windows that lined up neatly between the arches; the spiked towers that stood proud like a demon’s horns; the way the shrubbery weaved itself around the architecture, tightly - yet gently, unafraid to let go, yet attached to the point of obsession; and of course, the beautiful glasswork that loomed above the front doors: the very first Lady of El.

She did not exist to him.

The El Masters, the Priestesses, the esteemed gods and overseers of Elrios - none of them mattered to him. Edan was not here for them.

The doors groaned as he pushed them open. Loud. Rusty. A harsh creaking. Needs oiling. Maybe tomorrow. The inside was dark - of course it was: the El-powered lamps had run out of fuel eons ago, abandoned alongside the rest of the church; neglected, melting into the walls as if to hide their sorry states of disrepair. In here, there was no light.

...That was a lie. There was light here. Edan traversed through the church, carefully stepping over the rotting pews and mounds of debris as he made his way to the front of the altar. The cross stood tall against the back wall despite its cracks and color worn with age, and the once regal curtains had been torn by wild animals and cruel winds, leaving behind little more than scraps of old silk that barely covered the open windows. The table beneath the altar remained in surprisingly decent shape, a long tablecloth adorning its faded stone surface. Its placement was surely intentional - when the moon crept out from behind the clouds, its light would perfectly envelop the red-adorned table in a mystic blue glow. There was no way this was coincidental, Edan thought.

Alas, it would have been a beautiful sight were it not for the wretched plants that weaved and coiled around the altar. Thorn-covered stems pierced into every little hole and crevice, tightly clinging onto the holy ornaments, as if a prideful Lucifel looking to usurp the gods, cooing ever so sweetly as he laughs mockingly at the weakened state of the once almighty. Thousand-petaled flowers bloomed amongst these dreadful leaves, colored an array of violets and dark blues, translucent lips reeking of sweet pollen, their glowing veins pulsing ever so vibrantly; slowly, breathing, intoxicating; the ever-growing garden of innocent yet spiteful children of the Forginay flutter in the cool night breeze and for a moment, Edan swears he can hear them giggle.

He approached the frolicking children quietly, cautiously, his hand never leaving his blade. It’s barely unsheathed, the thin silver blade is faintly visible, reflecting the slightest amount of moonlight. His voice is calm and quiet, a cold wind passing through the desolate chapel.

“Berserker Blade.”

Blue streaks flew from his sheath in a trance-like motion. The screams followed shortly after.

Edan swung his sword once more and what follows this time is silence. And then a soft plop, as if someone had dropped a hat, a coat, or even perhaps a stuffed animal. Edan did not need to look to know what had fell. He sheathed his sword, golden eyes fixated to the withered and writhing stems, vivid greens quickly fading to a dull brown, retreating, collapsing, revealing more of the treasure hidden beneath their leaves.

“That's two more down…”

He allows himself to relax, breathing a low sigh as all the tension leaves his body. Using all his blood reserve made him feel weak, tired. But there were no regrets; it was more than worth it. He took a step closer to the table and knelt down. These damn plants. He grabbed the now-dead stems and forcefully pulled. They broke apart easily, without a shred of resistance. As expected. Edan grunted as he continued to weed out the entanglement, being careful not to touch the ones that were still alive. His work finished, Edan took a step back to marvel at the uncovered secret.

“Hey.”

Gentle. So gentle, so warm. Was it truly the same voice? The speaker took off his gloves, a bare hand gingerly brushing aside the messy strands of black hair that poked through the gaps and openings of the vines. Edan’s cold fingers brushed across the dark colored mask and eventually found their way to a rough but warm cheek. More of the left side had been uncovered today, but parts of the head and everything below the shoulder were still hidden. It seems the spoiled children were still unwilling to give up their toy. But that was fine.

Time was not an issue for the immortal swordsman. He would persevere for years, decades, centuries, if needed. His body was unchanging, and so was his determination, his will.

“I want to hear your voice again soon, Valak…”

His hand tenderly caresses the unmoving body. Against all forms of reasoning, logic, knowledge, it was still warm and caved slightly under Edan’s touch. He could not feel the pulsating of a heart, the movement of blood, the rise and fall of a breath, but he could smell the unique flavor of oxygenated blood combined with Valak’s own special scent. It was a little bitter, a little musky, and reminded Edan vaguely of herbal medicine, but it was a familiar scent to him. It was a calming scent. One that proved Valak was still alive.

Edan retrieved his hand and put his glove back on. He leaned against a wall of debris and, after moments of shifting around to find a comfortable position, closed his eyes. It wasn't as if he necessarily needed sleep, but he wanted to take some time, conserve some energy, let his mind file the day’s events away. His mind quickly drifted off and he felt his body go limp. Ahh, what a long day. He would continue hunting tomorrow, the next day, the day after that, and so forth. Time would not move for the two trapped in this ancient chapel, after all, not for a long time. Ahh... As his consciousness dims, Edan mumbles out a quiet prayer:

“Good night, Valak…”

“......”

“......”

“.........igh… ...dan…...”


End file.
